Harry Potter and Music's Magic
by Guardian of Hope
Summary: This is not the story of an abused child. This is the story about being young and making mistakes, both as a teenager and as a parent. This is about second chances. Dumbledore is manipulative in this story, but not evil. He's old, and afraid of change, and wants his legacy to be about a LIght victory and that's what drives him. Time travel/redo fic, twin wrong BWL
1. Prologue

This isn't meant to be a story of abuse. This is the story of a child celebrity's not famous sibling, and what the effects of that could possibly be. This is the story of a grandmother so caught up in morning what she has lost that she forgets what she has. She doesn't mean it, but it's happening. This is the story of a father who is stern, and believes in corporal punishment. He goes a little far sometimes, and that probably pushes the line into abuse, but it's not lost-temper-beat-the-shit-out-of-him-repeatedly sort of thing.

It's about parents and guardians who don't mean it, but slip over the line into the territory of abuse, and three young men who have found something, in each other and themselves, that helps them deal with that.

It's about coming back in time to fulfill a prophecy they weren't supposed to know about.

It's about awakening family magics some say are better left forgotten.

It's about music and healing and the Gods of old.

Mostly, it's about friends and family.

I'm not going to write long, drawn out author's notes justifying everything that you see. I'll answer some comments if necessary, but it's my hope that the story itself will explain things.

I told a friend that this story consists of a lot of my favorite tropes thrown in a blender with the alphabet, and that's about accurate. You might notice the tags update as I think of more things to add to it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and unless I specifically state otherwise, the lyrical poetry stuff is mine.

Edit: **I forgot, but my friend reminded me... THERE IS SELF HARM IN THIS CHAPTER AND IT IS SPOKEN OF LATER ON.**

* * *

_Do you really want to play,  
Play that game?  
Do you really want to seek,  
Seek the same?  
Are you ready for that pain?_

Evan James let his voice trail off with the music, smiling shyly as the room erupted into cheers. It had been a hard year, but this was what made it worth it, this crowd of people cheering for him and his music. He slid the microphone into its stand, "All right everyone," he said as the cheering began to quiet down, "As I told you that was the last song of the night. Thank you all for coming out, I'm Evan James." There was more clapping and cheering and Evan headed off stage to where his best friends were waiting.

"Good show, mate," Nate said as he slapped his shoulder, "you really had them going."

Evan grinned, "It was the best kind of show, I think."

"If you were single," Reggie said as he fell in on Evan's left, "you'd probably have your pick of the girls out there."

"But I'm not single," Evan said as he pushed open the backstage door, "and I don't want just any girl."

They headed across the back lot of the club as the band inside started up again. "That was my last gig," Evan said, turning to grin at his friends, "starting next week it's concerts and recording studios and more money than the Malfoys."

"I dunno, I think Lucky Lucy could give you a run for your money," Reggie said.

"He could," Nate said, "if he cared to covert his money." He reached up and rubbed two fingers over his cheekbone.

"Hey mate," Evan said, catching Nate's hand, "you're the one who wanted that transdermal whatever piercings, stop toying with it."

"They're anti-eyebrow microdermal piercings," Nate muttered as he freed his hand, "I'm thinking about getting another one, actually."

"Are you finally going to get your PA?" Reggie asked as he pulled out the car keys.

"Is this were I point out that I don't want one of those?" Nate asked, "I'm thinking in my nose, actually, either that or my lip."

"If your grandmother could see you now," Evan said as he stole the keys from Reggie and scrambled into the driver's seat.

Evan glanced up at the rearview mirror, taking in his own green eyes and auburn hair before adjusting it so that he could back out. He still wasn't sure how he'd managed to get so lucky as to be able to spend his life with his two best friends. There had been a time when he'd been half convinced they wouldn't survive school, much less manage their escape.

"Earth to Evan," Reggie said, tapping Evan on top of his head, "You in there?"

"Yes, sorry," Evan replied, "just thinking about school."

"Why would you be thinking about that?" Reggie asked, "I intend to forget I ever went there."

Evan shrugged as he pulled out into traffic, "Just thinking how ten years ago, I was afraid that I'd wake up and one of you wouldn't be there."

"You were afraid?" Nate said, "We almost lived that nightmare, _Harry."_

"I know," Evan said, "I know, _Neville._ I'm sorry. We all had our demons back then, didn't we?"

He couldn't look, traffic in Miami wasn't ever kind to distracted drivers, but he knew that Reggie and Nate were both probably running restless fingers over hidden scars. Evan's fingers twitched and he wanted to pull off the leather wrist cuffs that hid the worst of his scars. Not that he would, Evan had spent years learning that the moment you least wanted it; someone would be taking your photograph.

"I've been thinking," Evan said as he guided the car up the A1A towards home, "I want to invest in a flat. How do you feel about moving to South Beach?"

"The woman will be pretty," Reggie said.

"It won't be Key West," Nate said, "but I guess the alcohol will be nice enough."

"I thought you hated Key West," Reggie said.

"No, that was me," Evan said. "Although the tips were pretty nice down there and all; I'm just not the island type, I guess."

"I liked Key West," Nate said smugly, "and Key West liked me."

"Yes, we know," Reggie said, "you got laid in the Keys."

"About South Beach," Evan cut in, hoping to get around another bragging session. The conversation meandered for the entire drive home, only to be forgotten when they arrived at the large townhome that had been theirs for almost a year.

Waiting for them by the front door was a tall woman with curly brown hair and a worried expression. "Can I help you?" Evan asked as they approached the woman.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, "I'm looking for Neville Longbottom."

"Shh," the three men said in unison, making the woman flinch.

"I'm Nate Long," Nate said, "come in and explain what this is about." He opened the door and gestured the woman in.

Under the brighter lights on the staircase, Evan realized he recognized the woman, "Hermione Granger," he said quietly.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, and then Reggie, "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

Evan smiled, "Most people call me Evan James now." He gestured, "Come up stairs, have a cup of tea, and tell us why you came looking. I'm sure that unless Gwarp is charging Miami, we have time for tea."

"He's right," Reggie said, "come on, this isn't a mudblood free zone, you know."

Hermione followed them up to the living room, "You're Harry and Draco?" She said after a moment.

"Evan James," Evan said, "I don't use that name any more."

"Reggie Black," Reggie added. "I definitely don't use that name."

"Sorry," Hermione said, "I just, I can't believe I found you."

Evan looked up from where he was collecting cups from the living room. Hermione's shoulders were shaking as she watched Nate put the kettle on. "Hey Hermione," he said, reaching to touch Hermione's shoulder gently, "What's wrong?"

Hermione burst into tears and Evan pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry," she sobbed.

"It's ok," Evan said, "you're safe here, I promise. Just let it out, ok?" He squeezed lightly and began rubbing small circles onto her back, "Just let it out, Hermione, it's ok."

By the time, the teakettle whistled, Hermione was calming down, "I'm sorry," she said.

"You needed that," Evan said, "now come have a seat and tell us what's going on, hmm?"

Hermione allowed herself to be steered to their couch. "Harry, I mean Evan," she said, "I-I don't know where to start. I mean, it's such a shock and I think you should know before they find you and Dumbledore is acting so strange, I just don't understand."

"Hermione," Evan said, "what's going on?"

Hermione took a shaky breath, "Vol-Voldemort killed Patrick. The Ministry thinks Dumbledore made a mistake about who survived the killing curse and they're looking for you. Voldemort's taken the ministry. It's awful, nobody knows what's going on or what to do, and the Muggleborns."

Evan sat back, keeping one hand on Hermione's knee. Patrick was dead. Patrick, the thorn in his side, pain in the butt older brother was dead. Evan wondered what he was supposed to feel upon hearing that the twin he hadn't been close to since the first time they'd seen the flash of killing curse green was dead.

"The ministry is coming for Evan?" Reggie asked, jolting Evan out of his thoughts.

"They're looking for him," Hermione said.

"Were you followed?" Nate asked as he came out of the kitchen with mugs of tea in hand.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted.

The three exchanged looks and then Neville put down the mugs and Evan stood up. "There's something we need to do before anyone else shows up," Evan said, he offered his hand to Hermione, "will you help us?"

Hermione took Evan's hand and stood up, "What can I do?"

"Add three ingredients to a potion while we're casting a spell, then handing each of us a dose when it's done." Evan said.

"I can do that," Hermione said.

"Thank you, Hermione," Evan said as they headed into the large laundry room.

There was a small silver cauldron on the tile floor that Reggie was examining. Evan let Hermione join him as Nate brought in their wands. "It's almost ready," Reggie said as he took his wand from Nate.

"What do I need to do?" Hermione asked, "I don't recognize this potion."

Reggie smiled, "There's a book under the mattress in the master bedroom, and it has the potion and spell in it. You can look later. For now, what you do is, when we start casting, you put in this cup," he pointed to the red cup on the dryer, "and stir sixteen times clockwise. Then you put in the green cup and stir seven times counter clockwise, then you put in the blue cup and you stir until it becomes clear. Then you add the yellow cup, stir three times clockwise and then ladle out three shot glasses," Reggie gestured to the shot glasses also on the dryer, "and that's it." He pointed at the back wall of the laundry room, "There are the instructions again."

"Ok," Hermione said.

A soft gong ran through the room and the three men exchanged looks, "Someone just apparated nearby," Evan said quietly.

"Could just be a neighbor," Nate replied.

"Let's just do this," Reggie said.

They raised their wands, touched the tips together, and began to chant.

The spell they were invoking was long and required to be spoken in unison. They had practiced it for hours until this moment came. They'd found the spell and potion in an old book in Reggie's family library, just as Evan had found the old journal that had inspired their adventures in Miami. Nate had found the spells that had hidden them so well, although only Evan had changed his looks so drastically. As they entered the second part of the chant, Evan reflected that it was amazing what time had done for them. Reggie had stopped using hair products and his hair had turned honey blond almost overnight. That and the fact that Reggie had relaxed enough to laugh and tease his friends made him a different person from who had once been. Nate had not changed much, he had started going to a gym and traded his baby fat for muscle. Other than his habit of getting tattoos and piercings, Nate's greatest change was his self-confidence. It had blossomed as Nate realized how much his friends cared for him. Evan knew that he had changed to, not just changing his hair and getting contacts, but the way he stood, the way he interacted with others, it was different.

None of them were liked the three boys who had vanished when their NEWTs arrived. They didn't have to be.

Finally, the spell was done, and Hermione was handing over the shot glasses that they threw back, still in unison.

They set the shot glasses on the washer as a louder gong rang through the townhouse. "Visitors," Reggie said as he swayed.

Evan turned to Hermione, "Thank you, Hermione. You'd better get out of here fast. That was the intent ward. Someone with magic is headed this way. They're about half a kilometer out. We'll be fine."

"Thanks for warning us," Nate said.

"We'll see you soon," Reggie said. "Get the book, and the trunk, from the master bedroom and go."

"Ok," Hermione said, hurrying out of the room.

"Good thing she trusts us," Evan muttered as they all sat down on the ground. His eyes felt heavy so he closed them, "Anne's going to be pissed."

"No worries mate," Nate replied. "I'm sure she'd understand."

There was a crack of apparition and then a third gong.

"Later," Nate said.

The world went black.

_It is Christmas, Harry is five and holding one of the few presents with his name on it. Rick is tearing through a small mountain of gifts. Lily and James are watching as Rick works his way through the pile. They haven't noticed Harry really, beyond giving him a cup of chocolate milk and a plate some sausage wraps on it. Harry begins to open the gift, wishing his dad was joking about what he'd gotten or his mum was taking his picture. Nobody looked as he opened the gift, it was a book; The Tales of Beadle the Bard._

_It's Spring and Neville is eight. He knows his gran would disapprove of him getting muddy, but Neville wants to see the plants. He stands at the window and stares at the back garden._

"_Your grandson is well, I trust?"_

_Neville hesitated, looking back over his shoulder, but Gran and Ms. Muriel weren't coming into the drawing room._

"_As well as can be expected," Gran replied with a soft sigh._

_Neville could hear her disappointment. He knew she was starting to believe that he would be a squib. Neville headed for the door, he did not want to hear this._

_"Draco, it's time to come inside."_

_Draco is ten and ready to go to Hogwarts, "In a minute, Mother," he calls, staring at the sky. There, there is his constellation._

"_Draco, don't make me tell you again," Narcissa calls._

_Draco flinched, but turns to run inside, "Can we go to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"_

"_Maybe," Narcissa said. "We'll see what your father says."_

_Draco skipped in happiness, he loved Diagon Alley._

"_Malfoys do not skip, Draco," Lucious said as he came out of his office, cane in hand. "Do we need to discuss this again?"_

"_No sir," Draco said._

"_Very good."_

"_Is that Patrick Potter?" Someone said._

_Harry flinched, wondering why he'd decided to walk beside Rick as they headed to the Hogwarts Express. Someone had noticed, soon, there would be reporters, and he doubted his parents would let him escape. They'd said it often enough, that he could duck some photos, but not all; otherwise people would worry._

_It was tough being the identical twin of Patrick 'Rick' Potter, the defeater of Voldemort and the only known survivor of the killing curse. It was bad enough, in Harry's opinion, to be a Potter without being a celebrity also._

_Draco hated the Slytherin dungeons. There were no windows in the dorm. _

_It was his second year in Slytherin, and Draco knew he could survive that. He wasn't sure he could survive his potions partner; Snape had assigned the extra Gryffindor to him. Especially given that it was one of the Potter twins. At least it was the quiet one, Harry, and not his braggart of a brother, Rick._

_Draco remembered the warning hissed in his ear about treating Harry right. Draco had thought that Rick hated his brother, given the way he usually talked about Harry. It was noteworthy._

_The words bounced through his mind like stone, _worthless, stupid, squib, weak, coward_, they wouldn't leave him alone. They hounded him with all the fury of a pack of Hell Hounds. There was only one way to make the words go away and Neville gripped his razor in his shaking hand like it was a lifeline._

_He slipped into the bathroom, relieved that this late, or this early, it was nearly five am, all of his dorm mates would be sleeping. Neville sat down on the bench in the middle of the room and lifted the blade. His hand stilled and he made the first cut. There was no pain, only a moment of silence as if the bright red blood were pulling away one of the words._

_The bathroom door opened and Neville looked up, terrified. It was Harry. There was a glint of silver in one hand, and Neville could see the thin red lines on his arm, not unlike his own._


	2. Malfoy Morning

A/N: I'm not going to over do the Author Notes, I just want to say that this is shorter than the other one was and I'm sorry for that. Enjoy!

* * *

Reggie groaned as he woke up. Nate must have opened his curtains again; the brat was sadistic enough to do it after a night at the club. He could almost taste the whiskey and smoke, meaning he really needed to shower and brush his teeth. Reggie opened his eyes and stared. He was not looking at the white ceiling of his room in the townhouse, but at a ceiling painted with stars. He hadn't seen that ceiling in years.

Reggie sat up and gripped his head as a headache came roaring to his attention. After a moment, he opened his eyes and stared, because this was his room at Malfoy Manor. "What did I do last night?" He whispered.

His eyes fell on his old Nimbus 2001 and memory asserted itself; Hermione, the death of Rick Potter, the potion.

Reggie fell backwards on the bed, _We did it._ He thought. _We bloody well did it._

Reggie wanted to laugh, but knew that he might be watched, so he didn't. Instead, Reggie rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. _I have to remember that I'm Draco Malfoy again._ He thought as he entered the white and black marbled room, _I'm no good at occulmency, and if Snape, Dumbledore, or Moldy-shorts figure out I think of myself as Reggie Black, the gig will be up._

Showered and dressed, Draco stepped back into his bedroom, wondering what day it was. His body, the broom, and the lack of certain trinkets said he was about thirteen years old, and it was very clearly summer.

The door to Draco's room banged open and Lucius stormed in, "Father," Draco said, and winced as his voice broke. _Puberty, again, how lovely._

"Can you explain this?" Lucius asked, thrusting a scroll at Draco.

Draco took the scroll and opened it.

_Draco Regulus Black_

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY_

_Mischief Managed_

_Harry James Potter_

There was a sketch of a dragon playing a guitar at the bottom of the scroll.

Draco grinned for a moment, and then looked up as Lucius cleared his throat. "Harry Potter is my potions partner," he said, "we did a partner potion for extra credit, it was a sort of reversal potion but when it's give to someone not already enchanted it causes them to walk and speak backwards. We had some left after turning in our extra credit. Potter took some home with him to prank Perfect Patrick Potter. He was just letting me know that he pulled it off."

"I see," Lucius said. He stepped back, "Be careful about associating with Mister Potter, Draco, but continue to do so. Our Lord might find your connections helpful in the long run."

"Yes Father," Draco said.

"Do not take too long to write him back," Lucius said, "your mother is waiting for you to come down to your Birthday Breakfast."

"Yes, Father," Draco said.

When the door was shut behind Lucius, Draco relaxed for a moment, and then hurried over to his desk. If Harry had sent him the first letter, then Draco would have to let Neville know. In minutes, his owl, Armand, was heading off with the two notes attached. Then Draco checked his image, wrinkled his nose at the sight of his white hair, and headed down to breakfast.

Breakfast in the Malfoy household was easily the warmest meal; Lucius seldom ate with them, leaving Draco and Narcissa to discuss their daily routine. Lucius might eat with them once a week, but he always appeared on the important days, birthdays, Lucius and Narcissa's wedding anniversary, and certain holidays. When Lucius wasn't there, Draco and Narcissa could speak, if not warmly, then with more familiarity than Lucius permitted.

Of course, Draco knew that after his fourth year, a lot of things changed. With the return of Riddle, the familiarity that Narcissa had once allowed him had faded away as Riddle's control of their lives grew. When Bellatrix had arrived, it was all Draco could do to stay home until he had his NEWTs. "Aunt" Bellatrix had been mad, driven so by her Lord, Azkaban, and her own sadism, and Draco feared her more than Riddle in some ways.

Draco shook off the memories and walked into the dining room where Voldemort had once killed the Professor of Muggle Studies.

"Draco," Narcissa said, "good morning."

"Good morning, Mother," Draco replied, moving to kiss his mother's cheek before taking his seat. "How are you this morning?"

"I am well, and yourself?" Narcissa replied.

Draco allowed himself to smile, "I am very well." He turned, "Good morning Father."

"Draco," Lucius replied. "I have some business to attend this morning, but I will be back in time for the party this afternoon."

Draco knew his parents probably expected him to whine about him not being there. "You'll be there for the party though, right?"

"I will be there," Lucius said, raising his eyebrow.

Draco nodded, and looked down as his plate appeared.

"You aren't upset about it?" Narcissa asked.

Draco frowned at his mother for a moment, "Well no," he admitted. "Harry, I mean Potter; he said that last year his mother had to work and couldn't be at his party at all. I know how lucky I am that Father will be here at all."

"We all know that Mrs. Potter is a mudblood, I think I can provide a better example in parenting than she does," Lucius said with a disapproving frown.

"She made time to see Patrick Potter," Draco said quietly as he picked up his knife and fork.

"Clearly you've spent time talking to Mister Potter," Narcissa said.

Draco shrugged, "We were potions partners, mother. It was either get along or kill each other and we agreed we wanted Os in potion over the death of someone we hated through an intermediary." He poked the sausages with his fork for a moment, and then looked up at his parents, "Is something wrong?"

"No," Narcissa replied, looking over at Lucius, "nothing's wrong."

"Ok," Draco said. Inwardly he was furious with himself, he wasn't twenty-five and independent, he was thirteen and dependent, and if he didn't watch himself, he was still of an age that his father's cane would serve a very painful purpose. He had to be careful about not letting on that he was anyone other than Draco Malfoy, and he had a whole month before Hogwarts to hide that he wasn't who they were expecting to see.

When breakfast was over, Draco watched his father leave, and then turned to his mother, "Is there anything I need to do this morning, Mother?"

"Only make sure you are dressed and ready for your party, Draco," Narcissa replied.

Draco bowed slightly, "I'll be in my room then. I want to revise my potions homework."

"Very well," Narcissa replied.


	3. Afternoon with a Longbottom

A/N **Warning: Mentions Cutting. He does not physical cut himself, but his thoughts are on the subject.**

According to Google Translate, I've used appropriate words for the purpose. If I made a mistake, let me know, but blame Google Translate. I forgot to mention before, but one aspect of this fic that I am rather excited about is the chance to explore the culture of the Wizarding World. This is a very twist sort of set up, and it would take an author's note the length of this chapter, at least, to explain the whole thing. The short version is that there are two cultures the "old" and "new". They cross over in some ways, certain accepted titles have equivalents, but the "old" culture is very much focused on the connections between people and families, while the "new" is more individualistic, while the family and family name are important, there's less emphasis on interconnection.

Also: Nate is Neville. He just doesn't think of himself as Neville. In later chapters, we'll see Nate start thinking of himself as Neville.

* * *

In the woods outside Longbottom Manor, there is an old tree house. It was built by Frank Longbottom and his father as a bonding activity long ago. When Neville became old enough to explore the woods a bit, Dowager Augusta Longbottom, his grandmother, made sure the tree house was a safe as possible so that he might have a retreat of his own. Nate found himself practically camping out there within days of his return to the past. Even with the occasional letter from Evan and Reggie to sustain him, Nate was constantly surrounded with the things that had lead to him snapping and running away in the first place.

Sure, Evan had to deal with being the brother of the boy who lived, and Reggie didn't just have scars from cutting, but neither of them had to deal with the cutting remarks of the Dowager Longbottom.

Nate ran his hand down his arm, feeling the marks where he'd been cutting before his time travel adventure. There weren't as many as there had been the day he'd gotten the dragon scale tattoo, but there were more than enough.

_You're never really cured of cutting,_ Nate thought as he pushed his thumb down on the newest of the thin red lines, something he'd obviously done within hours of their precipitous arrival in the past. _You just stop, you find something else to do to replace it, but it never really goes away._ The pain from the pressure grounded him in all the wrong ways and Nate knew he should stop, but he couldn't. _I'm not Frank; I'm Nate Long, or Neville Longbottom. I wish Gran could see that._

Nate let go of the scar and sighed. Between his grandmother's disparaging remarks about his grades, and the overheard comments about his all around uselessness, Nate knew exactly what his grandmother thought. _I wish I were back in Miami. I could go replant a flowerbed, or trim some hedges, or something manual. The house elves would have a fit if I even tried here. Maybe I should build something, I know enough about construction to get by, or I could finally carve myself a set of drumsticks, for practice._

With that thought in mind, Nate scrambled up and headed for the ladder. A soft pop behind him made him tense. "Master Neville sir," a high-pitched voice said.

Nate turned, "Yes, Webber?" He asked, looked down at the house elf.

"Mistress Augusta requests you come back to the Manor. You is having guests, Master Neville." Webber said.

Nate managed a weak smile, "Thank you Webber. I'll head back now." _So much for drumsticks._

When Nate walked in through the garden door, he was surprised to find Remus Lupin and Harry Potter waiting with his grandmother. "Professor Lupin," he said startled.

Remus smiled a little as Dowager Longbottom stood up, "Neville," she said, "Professor Lupin and Young Potter have invited you to go with them to Diagon Alley."

Nate nodded slightly, "May I go, Grandmother?"

"You may go," Dowager Longbottom replied. "After you get cleaned up. Really, Neville, I thought you were old enough to know better than to get your clothes dirty."

Nate flushed, _twenty-five and she still makes me feel like a, how does she put it, yes, a feckless gawp of a boy._ "Yes Grandmother," he said out loud. "I'll be back shortly." He raced up stairs to clean up, quickly scrubbing away the last traces of his work on a tiny, hidden garden. It was his sanity, that tiny clump of plants, and he didn't want to risk losing it. He threw on clean clothes and shrugged into an open front robe before racing back downstairs.

They were already waiting in the foyer when Nate hurried back down, "Neville," the Dowager said, and handed him a heavy purse, "Your allowance. You need not concern yourself about school items, but you will not get another purse until your next birthday."

"Yes Grandmother," Nate said and slid the bag into his pants pocket.

Then they were grabbing floo powder from the heirloom silver dish and the green flames tore them away from Longbottom Manor and to The Leaky Cauldron.

Once they were in the busy, but not crowded, tavern, Harry laughed and gave Nate a one armed hug, "I thought she was going to toss us back through the floo with our ears burning," he said.

Nate squeezed back, "Yeah, I can't believe she agreed." He turned to Lupin, "Thank you for this, Professor."

"Not a problem," Lupin said, "It's probably very boring being cooped up in the Manor all day."

They started through the pub, "Where too first?" Nate asked.

"Where else?" Harry replied as he gave Nate the smirk he would deny using, the one that made him _really_ look like James. "We're going to Olivanders."

Nate swallowed and glanced at Remus, who was opening the gate to the Alley, "We're going to do this now?" Nate hissed in Harry's ear.

"No time like the present, you need a wand attuned to you," Harry replied firmly.

Nate was tempted to protest more, but the look on Harry's face said it all. Harry wanted Nate to get a new wand, and because Harry was his _rialóir,_ or tribe ruler, Nate would do it.

Nate still wasn't sure if Reggie and Evan realized what they'd built in Miami, or how it would cross over now that they were stuck in their thirteen-year-old bodies. Evan, or Harry, had not been raised in the old traditions, and Reggie, or Draco, might have been raised that way, but ever since Sirius Black had become the Malfoy's _rialóir_ and set aside the old ways for the new, it was possible that Malfoy had focused on his power base as dictated by the new ways, where the Malfoys were not _ceannair_,or clan leaders, but instead a Noble house. Nate had been raised to be a _ceannair_ himself, a clan leader under the rule of the _rialóir_ of his tuath, or tribe. There was a lot for him to discuss in the coming school year, if Harry and Draco wanted to embrace all of the old.

"Nev, you alive in there?" Harry asked.

Nate glanced up, "I'm here," he said, looking up at Olivanders shop in surprise.

"Let's get this done then," Remus said, giving Nate's shoulder a light squeeze.

Olivanders' was just as creepy as Nate remembered in his fifth year, when Harry had dragged him to the shop to get his wand after seeing just how poorly matched Neville was to his father's wand. Nate thought he shouldn't have been surprised when Harry had brought him here on their first trip to Diagon Alley this time around.

"Mister Longbottom," Olivander said as he glided from the back of the shop, "a little later than I expected."

"I'm here now though," Nate replied firmly. "I need my own wand; I can't go using my father's wand forever."

"Of course," Olivander said. "Which is your wand hand?"

"I write with both, but I tend to use magic with my right hand," Neville replied.

Olivander studied him for a moment, "Have you tried using your offhand?"

"Once or twice," Neville said, "the response was about the same."

"That is the wand, not yourself," Olivander turned away. "Perhaps you should try to use your left hand this time."

Nate wondered if there would be a difference, but he accepted the wand Olivander offered with his left hand.

"No," Olivander said, reclaiming the wand and turning away.

Almost a dozen wands ended up on the counter before Olivander brought forth a wand that Nate instantly recognized. He picked it up and felt the warmth that came from a perfect match.

"Ah," Olivander murmured, "Cherry wood and unicorn hair, thirteen inches. Yes, yes, very good, very good."

"Thank you," Nate said, "how much do I owe you?"

"Seven galleons," Olivander replied, moving to the register.

With the wand paid for, Nate followed Harry and Lupin back into the street. "Where to next?" Lupin asked, turning to Harry.

"Over here," Harry said, and led the way to a small shop beside Quality Quidditch Supplies. The peeling silver paint read _Mavery's Music Emporium._

Nate followed eagerly, he'd been in the Emporium once, when he was twelve, and it was exactly as he had remembered. Instruments everywhere, racks of sheet music, all the supplies a musician needed. "Good afternoon," the older gentleman behind the counter said, "how may I help you?"

Harry stepped forward, "I'm looking for a magical piano that is easy to transport, say to Hogwarts, for a friend's birthday. She's always complaining about not being able to practice, so I want to make it possible for her."

"I have just the thing sir," the shopkeeper said. "Come this way."

Nate glanced around and his footsteps slowed as he spotted the drum section. Unlike Harry, who played several instruments, and Draco, who focused on piano and guitar, the only instrument Nate played was the drums. While he was tone deaf, and thus not suited to other instruments, Nate had an innate sense of rhythm that made drumming easy.

Glancing over at where Harry and the proprietor were discussing pianos, Nate walked over to the drum section and began studying the different types of drumsticks.

"I didn't take you for a drummer."

Nate jumped, the pair of sticks he'd been holding hitting the floor with a clatter, "Professor," he gasped.

"Sorry for startling you," Lupin said.

"It's all right," Nate said, picking up the drumsticks. "I was mostly looking." He put the sticks back and shook his head, "There's no organization to these sticks, no labeling."

"Is there one you want in particular?" Lupin asked.

"A 5a hickory," Nate said, "with a nylon tip." He sighed, "I'll just have to wait until I can get a Muggle music catalogue and see if I can't order something."

"Why order from Muggles?" Lupin asked.

Nate shrugged as he picked up another pair of sticks, "A wood tip is nice and all, but I like the sound of nylon. Besides, they don't break like wood might." He shifted down the row and stopped as he spotted an interesting display. "Hello beautiful," he murmured as he picked up the box.

In Miami, Nate had owned, and adored, his magical drum kit. It didn't look like a regular drum kit, being instead a series of color-coded blocks that, when tapped with a drum stick, sounded just like a specific drum. They had even had timpani sets that Nate had rarely used outside of practice but liked. They had been around for a while back then, developed in America in the mid-eighties before arriving in England along with the popularity of Howling Wolves.

Nate checked the price and then checked his moneybag. He could get the kit, which came with specialized drumsticks, but he'd be running short at Hogsmeade all year.

"What did you find?" Harry asked, coming around the corner with a bag in hand, "I found Hermione's birthday gift."

Nate turned the box for Harry to see, "Magical drum practice kit," he said with a grin.

Harry tilted his head for a moment, and then nodded, "I'll pay half, for your birthday."

Nate blinked, remembering how many times they'd made the offer as they scrimped and saved in the Muggle world, "All right." He said now. "What am I buying you for your birthday anyways?"

"Guitar?" Harry offered, "They have some nice ones here."

That meant that Harry already knew the one he wanted. It probably wasn't expensive, and it wouldn't be enchanted in any way. Evan had a history of enchanting his own guitars. "Let's go then," Nate said.

It was a good afternoon, Nate thought later on. The only things missing were Reggie and Anna, and the added presence of Remus had been as much a reminder as Harry's black hair that they hadn't just left Miami for some reason and dropped in on Diagon Alley. _Next time,_ Nate thought as he stared at his scarred arm in the moonlight, _next time we'll go together. Evan James, Reggie Black, and Nate Long, together against the world._


End file.
